Richard in the Jim
by UrieNanashi
Summary: A little one-shot (for now). Jim Moriarty was so changeable. So very very changeable...because Jim Moriarty, once upon a time, had been Richard Brook. So the question wasn't 'who was Jim Moriarty' it was 'Who was Richard Brook? and don't forget 'why was Molly Hooper foolish enough to try and find out'
1. Chapter 1

I haven't posted anything on here in forever but this pair has caught me in a way I can't shake. So here is a really little something inspired by the idea that Jim Moriarty really was Richard Brook and that Jim Moriarty was the fake name. Also dedicated to the lovely I'm Over There her amazing Molarity fic. This is a one shot for now but it might turn into something else- we'll see. No I don't on Sherlock Holmes, the books, movies, or tv show. Please leave a review because I am supper nervous about this. Enjoy!

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Richard Brook. That had been his name, once upon a time. Once upon a time- So fitting. His whole life was a fairy tale now. A story he wrote, first in his head (always, **ALWAYS** in his head) and then in 'real' life. **Jim Moriarty** didn't know much (remember much) about Richard Brook. He had been an only child, he remembered that. Always remembered that- being _alone_. Everyone wants to be unique…everyone except Richard Brook. Richard Brook had been _**lonely**_. So painfully gut wrenchingly lonely. He hadn't (didn't) want to be ordinary, he would **never** be so _pathetic_, but he had wanted- **someone**.

At the same time, Richard Brook had never been **alone**. His head had been far too filled for that. Always, **ALWAYS**, with the yelling in his mind. Like _too_ much was crammed in _too_ small a space. And **God**, at night when the pounding had _**gonged**_ against the walls of his skull and he thought his brain might _ooze_ out from his ears and that would be fine, just **fine** because then at last _maybe_ he could get some _**sleep**_. But it never had and so he had never gotten any sleep and he had had to get up and go to school with all those **MORONS**. He had hated them all. All of them, but none more so then that fucking stupid Carl Powers. Carl Powers who had thought he was so _very clever_, who liked to _make an idiot out of people_. Carl Powers who had **thought** to make **Richard Brook** look like a fool, _like an idiot_. **NO ONE** makes an **idiot** out of _**Jim Moriarty**_ (Richard Brook) .

So Jim, no wait, _not Jim_, not Jim then still **Richard**- Richard had made him **STOP**. Had made _**Carl**_ stop. But that didn't go exactly as planned (the first and last time that had ever happened), because two people had died that day; Carl…and Richard. For a long time he had been…nothing (because he could never be something as _pathetic_ as a _**nobody**_) The _loneliness _had faded, muted away and became unrelenting _**boredom**_. Became **rage** that boiled under his skin. And nothing became _Jim Moriarty_ the world's only consultant criminal because _nothing_ cured _**boredom**_ like a **good distraction**. Only good distractions were so **hard** to come by. And then there was Sherlock.

Molly Hooper had always had a cat; as far back as she could remember. Her first cat, Sam had been a gift from her father when she was just four or five. Her father had given her a cat because she didn't play with other kids, or rather _other kids_ **didn't** play with _her_. But it wasn't just kids who didn't play with Molly; her mother never did and her father simply didn't have the time. No one seemed to like Molly. They didn't **hate** her but no one had **liked** her. Maybe she wasn't being fair, she was pretty sure her dad had liked her. He had always been _nice_ to her. Still little Molly had always dreamed that one day her father would come home and realize that Molly was _perfect_. That little Molly was everything he had ever wanted in a daughter. That he would stop being _nice_ and start being **loving**. She liked to think that he would have if he hadn't gotten sick, because once that had hit him he hadn't had time for anything (not enough time to work, to go to the hospital, to _**live**_…to love Molly)

Her mother had never been kind to her but then she had never been nice to father either. Her mother had been a teenager stuck as an adult- moody, unappreciative, lazy, and extremely flirty. Once her father had died (and left Molly _**alone**_) she hadn't wasted time finding a new boyfriend. Oh the boyfriends; more then she could possibly remember. More than she wanted to remember. And the boyfriends had **never** been _nice_ to her either. (Somewhere along the way Sam had ended up **dead**).

It wasn't that Molly had faded away; it was more like Molly had never been visible. And oh how she wanted to be. As the years had gone by she still never found a place she fit. At least not a place among the _living_. See this was why the morgue was perfect for her- a corner where she was out of the way. Where she didn't bother anyone (and _**no one**_ _ever_ bothered her). She was always **alone**, and god the painful gut wrenching _**loneliness**_! So Molly made a place, a small nook for herself among the dead (whose words or looks would never hurt her). But she had still been alone. And then there was Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

Richard Brook chapter 2

Chapter Two- Well seems I can't stop now. I am still not sure how long this will go on for- if it does continue it will be rather slow moving. Also, as an FYI I am using information found on both Molly and John's blogs (in addition to the show). The theory that Richard is the real person comes from a tumblr post- I will leave a link at the end so you can go check it out yourself. Please leave a review because I am still super nervous about these- especially because I am working with such excellent characters and I am trying so hard to do them justice.

The lovely thing about creating things is that you can keep reworking them until they are what you want them to be. Until they are _perfect_, and that is why **Jim Moriarty** had no flaws- because _Richard Brook_ **created** him that way. _**Jim Moriarty's**_ only _weakness_ was his _changeability_- because **he wasn't real**. And it's _**fun**_, not being real. When nothing is real, nothing matters. No one cries when you _kill_ an imaginary friend- and _real people_ were _**Jim's**_ imaginary people (because Jim didn't have _friends_ (except one (_sort of_ (**Sebastian**))). And Jim being _so very_ changeable meant that Jim could create other personas so _very_ easily. That's how Jim from IT was born.

Jim was _always_ so very **bored**. Bored with people, with **life**, because _god_ people were all such **IDIOTS**. It was so _exhausting_ to have to deal with them _all_ the time. Like living in a world where everyone was _ants_ and you were the only **person** (_no one_ to play with, _no one_ to talk to, **boring** (_lonely_)) The only _enjoyment_ Jim got out of life were his games and oh did he have a lot of them. Had to by necessity, because otherwise the **pounding** in his head got _**worse**_ and _**worse**_. He _lived_ for **distractions** and was always on the search for a good one. And then there was Sherlock- the best distraction. Jim _loved_ and **hated** Sherlock. He was an equal (maybe), someone to play with and these things made Jim very happy. Very _happy_ and very _angry_. Both were great because so often Jim was drowning in **boredom**. So there was Sherlock, but how to play with him (break him)? And then there was _Molly_. And that's how Jim from IT was born.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"I've got date tonight- or at least; I will."

"Dressed like you're (?)- Whatever. Just don't get killed, you still owe me money."

"_Love you too_ Seb!"

"I **will** shoot you." –but he was already gone.

Molly was happy (sort of) that Meena had convinced her to get a cat (_again_). She had _missed_ having a cat (_**Sam**_). Having Toby was great. He was a huge source of comfort, always there when she came home- ready to snuggle and curl up next to her. He never got _bored_ with Molly. Toby _**loved**_ Molly. And that was such a good feeling, because lately, the _loneliness_ had started pressing in on her more than usual. Maybe it was because she saw how Sherlock was able to find a friend and if **Sherlock** could find someone who would put up with him (besides her) then shouldn't **she** be able to? But no_, no one wanted Molly. _

Then, just when she was convinced that Toby would be the only one who would _ever_ be interested in her- _he_ had appeared. On her blog of all places (and she had been so certain no one read that). March 26th. And he had called her nose _cute_. And he had _noticed_ **Molly**- knew who she was. And he had wanted to meet up (_**with Molly**_) and get coffee.

She had had no idea what to expect. In fact all the way to the canteen she had questioned herself about how _stupid_ she was for going to meet up with someone she didn't know who randomly posted on her blog. It could have been a stalker (as if _anyone_ would ever _waste_ that much time on _**Molly**_), or worse (?) a practical **joke** (oh god, flashbacks of _high school_). In reality who she had met that day was _far far worse_ than either of those things but Molly hadn't know that because she didn't really _meet_ the person she met. She didn't meet **Jim** _**Moriarty**_ (_**consultant criminal**_), no she met Jim….Jim from IT.

Jim from IT had been _kind_. Had been sweet and funny and smart and _where he had been when she had needed him_? _He_ was just like _her_ (_socially awkward_)! It had all seemed so –lovely, too good to be true (which of course _it had been_).

She had walked into that room prepared for all the horrible things she had imagined (stalker, joker, ect.) but not at all prepared for **Jim** (from IT). He had been leaning against the wall by the entrance, waiting (**for her**). His kind face lit with a smile as she approached and he righted himself to step forward and shake hands. "You're Jim?" she asked and his smile had stretched as he shrugged awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck "Yeah! And you, you're Molly. It's um…**really** nice to meet you." She nodded and together they approached the coffee stand. "So you, you read my blog? Why? I mean it's not like I ever post anything that interesting." She asked as they placed their orders and he put down money for hers before she could. "Well," He started as he grabbed his coffee and they sat down at a little table "I think it's fascinating." At her confused look he continued "Your work in the morgue." She let out a small laugh her eyes trained on her cup "oh, really? That's a first. Most people I meet find it rather…creepy." But he shook his head at her words "I don't think so at all! I…I find it rather **heroic** honestly. I mean just look at me! All I do if fix computers all night, but you, you give people closure."

An hour and a half later and she left lighter then she had in- years maybe. It felt so good to vent, to have somebody listen for once. (Molly craved attention, had wanted it desperately since childhood, and like the cats she had had over the years- she was intensely loyal to anyone who gave it to her.) She genuinely liked Jim and thought that perhaps finally- she had met someone who would want Molly (for love or friendship- at this point she's be happy with either) For the first time in a long time, Molly had hope. Real, strong, living hope.

_**Jim Moriarty**_ was impressed by the sheer **stupidity** of this woman. How could anyone be so naive? First- being stupid enough to go meet someone you met online, they could be anyone! They could be **dangerous** (hehehehe (get it?)) second of all- the clothes he was wearing, the way he was moving, the way he talked- it was pretty damn obvious **Jim from IT was gay**. Apparently she was a _complete_ **moron** because she still flushed red as Jim (_from IT_) told flattering lies.

It seemed to drag on and on for Jim. Ten minutes of sitting still focusing on one thing (especially when it was something like _Molly_) hurt his head. He could feel the tingles under his skin- the warnings of headache. Irritating.

Jim Moriarty **almost** found her fascinating in her absolute patheticness. Why was she even alive? Molly was dull, socially awkward, and pathetically lonely. She was such a strange thing to him because he could not **imagine** continuing to live if there was **nothing** to _distract_ him. If he was forced to live a life like Molly's he'd have _killed_ himself so long ago. Even now with all the distractions he had built into his life- it was _**never enough.**_ Dear _god_ was she **still** going on about that cat? She really was a nervous blabber wasn't she? His head was pounding…_fuck_ the pounding in his head hurt. **Irritating**. He had no more patients to deal with her right now. Shut up woman. ** .NOW.**

"I'm sorry I've just been rambling on about myself this whole time! I am so sorry! What-what about you?"

"Don't be sorry! I…I really like listening to you." Queue _pathetic_ cliché blush. "Listen Molly I've really got to go, technically I wasn't suppose to take a break but-well, I _really_ wanted to meet you." _Christ_ her smile was so pitiful. It made him want to blow her head **off** (which actually meant contacting one of his people to do that for him)

The whole ride back to his 'apartment' his mood whiplashed. His phone kept buzzing- it was so irritating. Finally on the elevator ride up he glanced at the moron who'd tried to clog his inbox.

[GR-JM] {Mr. M, I need you assistance}

[GR-JM] {Please, Mr. M, I'll make it worth your while.}

[GR-JM]{Mr. M PLEASE. This is urgent! I can pay you! Please respond!}

Frowning he flipped threw his contacts before sending a text of his own-

[JM-PX]{ job for you- [GR]. Get rid of him. TODAY}

[PX-JM] {on it.}

His head hurt. It _**FUCKING HURT**_. He drained a glass _(crystal, Glencairn style, -)_of scotch_(__Chivas Regal Royal Salute, 50 years old, Price: 6234.8000 pounds(he wasn't going to waste his good stuff))_ while the bath filled with freezing water. He dropped the glass to the _floor (Macassar ebony, originally from Sri Lanka, 93.52 pounds per square foot,-)_ kneading his forehead.

When Sebastian came back that evening he found Jim (**Moriarty**) resting, asleep in a freezing overflowing tub fully clothed; he hadn't even bothered to remove his shoes. Reaching over he turned off the water. He watched his bosses face for a moment before turning and leaving Jim to his dreams. It was about damn time he fell asleep, Sebastian wasn't going to wake him. Besides, he wasn't paid enough to deal with a crabby Jim Moriarty.


	3. Chapter 3

Richard in the Jim chap 3

It makes me a little sad that not everyone is reviewing. I mean- I probably won't stop because of it (at least not right now because I spent the time to try and plan this out) but I really want to hear what people have to say. Also I updated chapter 2. So please, please, please- If you read could you at least write 'it was good' 'it was bad' 'want more', anything! Anyway here we go- Enjoy-

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Molly was _not_ having a good day. In fact she thought it was pretty fair to say her day had been pretty _crappy_. She'd woken up late, hadn't had time for breakfast, forgotten to charge her cell, and had to work through lunch autopsying a **mother and child** who'd died in a car crash. Molly was _definitely_ very ready to go home, snuggle up on her worn couch with Toby watching TV and eating some reheated pasta.

She started the end of day clean up in an almost daze. She carefully avoided her reflection in all the reflective surfaces but allowed her hands to soak in the calming cold of the metals as she finished up. Molly hung her coat up for the night looking over the room one more time. Mentally she tried to prepare herself to deal with the living again. At times- that seemed _so difficult_. The dead were just so much **easier** to be with sometimes.

"Good night." She said aloud to the departed who would sleep in her morgue tonight, before switching off the lights and heading out.

She was almost out of the building when- "Molly!" She stopped and turned to see Jim stepping out of the elevator. He was dresses in pair of black jeans and a tight fitting gray v-neck t-shirt with his ID lanyard swaying around his neck. "Jim! Hi! How are you?" he grinned, walking up to her at her "Busy, busy, busy. How about you? Heading home?" She wondered if he knew just how much it meant to her to have someone ask. To have someone curious about _her_ day. Someone wanting to talk _to her_- not _at her_ (**Do** **this** Molly, **Need that** Molly, Molly **I need** a favor, _Mo-lly_!)

She must be more tired than she had thought- she wasn't normally this-_morose_.

"Long day?" She blinked at him, mildly shocked by the concern on him face. Jim was such a **nice** guy.

"Yeah actually. I'm a little worn out. I had to autopsy a child today and that's never easy- no matter how many time's I've done it. Sometimes it just makes me want to quit-not-not that I'd ever do that! I love my job, but well-you know. It just- I wears on me sometimes I guess. Makes me just want to take off and leave or ….something…Oh just-never mind! Forget I said any of that!"

That hadn't come out at all like she had wanted it to. She really needed to think before she spoke- Molly didn't like blabbering (sounding like an **idiot**) in front of her new friend. But when she glanced up at his face she found it strangely blank. His eyes were suddenly deep and void- almost like there was some _creature_ inside Jim staring out from behind his eyes…..Molly decided she **officially** needed sleep. Still, maybe since the first time she had meet him, he looked serious. His eyes seemed to bore into her. "We all have our own choices to make in life Molly. Sometimes it's down paths we had never considered we would take. Sometimes it's paths that others don't _approve_ of." He blinked and suddenly the harshness in him subsided. He looked softer. He tilted his head away and rubbed the back of his neck "sorry! Wow –don't know **where** that came from. I guess it's been a long night for me too!"

"Don't- don't worry about it! I know what you were trying to get at-I-I think."

She was pretty sure he was trying to say something along the lines of- do what make you **happy** Molly. It was so nice, so _wonderful_, to have someone say such a thing to _her_. She really did like Jim. To have Jim there to try and get such a message across to her warmed her heart. Made her crappy day _at least_ three times better.

He was watching her with a look she couldn't quite place. He looked _almost_ curious or confused. He smiled at her, but that look didn't leave his eyes.

Before she could ask if he was okay he rubbed his hands together and asked "So I was wondering if you would like to change numbers? In case we ever wanted to- well get together or something." Molly couldn't fight the blush that crept up her cheeks. "Oh! Sure Jim! That a good idea. Wait a moment –oh shoot I totally forgot- I didn't charge my phone this morning!" "If you tell me your number I could text you." "Right. Sorry. Of course."

She recited off her cell number and watched Jim add _her_ as a contact. It was really pathetic that it excited her to be a contact on anyone's phone. He slid his phone back into his pocket as Molly clutched at her bag. "It was really nice seeing you again Jim" "You too Molly. Have a **safe** journey home."

Sebastian Moran _knew_ Jim Moriarty probably better than anyone else in the world. He was used to his boss's mood swings, his **violent** temper and expensive tastes (not that Sebastian minded _that_ particular trait- he himself is a man so some **class**). Sebastian was almost positive he was the **only** person in the world who knew of _Jim Moriarty's_ intense headaches. Knew that when his boss wasn't busy enough they plagued him; making him far more volatile than usual- and that wasn't good for _anyone_. Often the result was a war, a terrorist attack (anything that ended in **a lot** of _bodies_)

From what Sebastian had _deduced_, they weren't any ordinary type of headache- they wouldn't be if they there plaguing the **great** JIM MORIARTY. It was like his brain, with nothing to focus on, over absorbed information. It looked fucking painful. As a result his boss threw himself at anything that would keep his mind active.

But that wasn't all there was to Jim. His boss was _far_ more complex. He was charming, egotistical and, at time, even funny. All this on top of possessing intelligence beyond the level of genius, of course.

In short- Jim Moriarty could one hell of a pain in the ass. Sebastian Moran didn't give a fuck. Because if anything could be said of Moran beyond his super keen sniping abilities, it was that he was a loyal man. So Sebastian would always side with Jim Moriarty; even when Jim was cruel, ruthless, and destructive- none of that mattered (and Jim knew it). By now Sebastian had guessed Jim Moriarty wasn't his real name, or at least, not the name he was born with. But for all Sebastian cared Jim could turn out to be fucking alien (okay, maybe Sebastian wasn't so good at creative metaphors) and he wouldn't care. He doesn't even care about the substantial amount of money Jim pays him (although he would never tell Jim _that_). Sebastian had his own reasons for siding with Jim- all of which if Jim cared to think about it, would be **obvious**, but his boss had a habit of missing things in the more _emotional realm_.

In the end there are very few things Sebastian cared about; his _guns_, and keeping _Jim Moriarty_ relatively happy (manageable). So when Sebastian came 'home' to a busy Jim (therefore a _somewhat_ **happy** Jim)- Sebastian is content.

Jim was sitting at his **ridiculously** oversized desk- He had changed into one of his also ridiculously over priced suits; his expensive tie loosened and his feet in lime green socks that clashed horribly with the rest of his outfit. Sebastian wasn't even ganna ask. Jim was bent over huge scattered collections of papers, scribbling hurriedly and talking on the phone at the same time.

He closed the door of the office to hear Jim snap into the phone "I don't have two weeks and if **I** don't have two weeks **you** certainly don't have two weeks. Get it done!" He stood calmly watching his boss tuck his phone into his pant pocket, stand up and pace twice, sweep all the papers to off his desk in a rage, then grab a new paper only to sit down and start scribbling again.

"Where have you been?" Sebastian isn't surprised Jim doesn't stop his scribbling or that he now sounds totally calm. His bosses mind is far more then capable then just simple multitasking and Sebastian is far too used to the behaviors to care.

"Pretending to be you." His boss made a sound of vague acknowledgment. "And?" He still sounded calm, so Sebastian could guess his day had gone better then expected. "Nothing you'd be interested in. Basic low level rebels looking for support." Jim didn't bother to ask any more then that- it wasn't interesting enough for him.

Sebastian walked around to the corner of the room, sinking into one of the stuffed winged arm chairs. One of Sebastian's many jobs was attending to perspective and sometimes current clients. Jim had a criminal syndicate to run after all- he couldn't be bothered to talk to everyone (especially normal- **boring** crime clients). Moran didn't mind filling in as Moriarty- it kept him busy (and kept Jim's face more of a secret)

He watched Jim in silence for minuets, listening to his bosses mutterings- "boom, boom, boom" "can you guess? It's a game of _**Rumpelstiltskin**_. **Don't** be _boring_." "_You_ **surprised** _me_- well done. Maybe I'll play _nicer_ now…maybe not." Suddenly his boss stopped and looked up at him placing his hands together- reading Sebastian's eyes.

"You're in a good mood." _(why?)_ Jim smiled at the question, tilting his head to the right but didn't answer. Sebastian leaned forward holding out a folded piece of paper between two fingers. "Potential client. This one I think you'll like- they call her The Woman. She's been trying to get in touch with you" Jim stood up from the desk and picked the paper from his fingers. Jim unfolded the paper, read it once (no doubt instantly memorizing it), then began twisting it. "Well, let's see if this _viper_ is more **fun** than the _mouse_ I've found"

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I worked REALLY hard on this so please- I would LOVE some feed back. I know I am not the fastest updater in the world and I am sorry about how long this took but the second half of this chapter was a pain. Hope you enjoyed it.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey everyone! I know this took a long time- I'm so sorry. Unfortunately I think that's just how it's going to be with me being so busy and all. Anyway I made this one extra long to try and make up for it. please leave a review, it really makes my day. Enjoy!

Richard in the Jim chapter 4

Little Molly tired to solve Sherlock's riddles? Well wasn't **that** _interesting_. And **pathetic**- because clearly she wasn't intelligent enough for something like that. What had possessed her to try? Why did she go on when she was so worthless? Jim didn't **know** and as his phone buzzed again he decides he doesn't **care**. More important things going on. **Big** things. _Fun_ things. A game.

Jim had been so bored for so long, being constantly in the shadows; becoming an omniscient untouchable god had been fun. But all things grow **dull**- especially quickly for Jim. He was going to start a game. Mix things up. Get dirty- well, dirty-er then he had in a long while (Carl Powers?).

Jim's appearance is impeccable today. Hair slicked back, His black suit freshly pressed, shoes almost glowing black. But his hands are smudged gray from the graphite and his notes. Jim (Richard?) liked notes. He writes fast; sometimes in elegant script other times in illegible short hand, and still other times in Chinese and Latin (Latin is **not** a dead language- if it was _dead_; no one would know how to use it. **Morons**.) He writes so fast his mind out runs his hands, and his writing often ends up looking like it jumps to topics with no connections. That's not true of course, but other people just didn't **get** it.

{ finem incipit , who, who- **Sebastian**-get him **on it**. Supplier- set it up. Seria? _Text_ HL. money flow. 给该名女子打电话吗?-不，他日。Grandma? Kid? –call Molly (_so_ _call me maybe_-**kill**. .)Buy (_another_) radio station? **White** tie. Kindle or Nook? –check reviews?}

Then of course he switches swiftly between paper, computer and phone. Always rotating and multitasking. His phone is **always** buzzing-irritating (_somewhat_)

[FL-JM] {Transfer complete}

[GR-JM] {Job done. thank you for your aid Mr. M}

[ST-JM] {Have a problem. Would you be willing to help?}

[YH-JM] {[TV] eliminated. Let me know if I can do anything else for you}

[KA-JM] {Package will arrive tonight at agreed address}

[Seb M.-JM] {Set up running smoothly. Everything will be ready on time. Eat lunch- I am not you're fucking cook. }

The last is the only one that gives him any pause. Seb is _too_ much **fun**. On the other had he is also right (in the fact that Jim is _hungry_- not that he isn't Jim's cook because **Jim** _owns_ Sebastian Moran. If Jim wanted him to make a sandwich he fucking would)

Pausing for the first time in who knows how long Jim jumped up from his desk (which is just the **right** size thank you fucking much _Sebastian_) shoes clicking he searched his kitchen for anything that looked tempting. He's bored. His fingers drum against cherry wood cupboards and black granite counter tops in his agitation. Maybe he _should_ hire a cook…or maybe Sebastian **could** be Jim's cook? (Seb in an _apron_?-might be worth it) But then Sebastian is **busy** and Jim is hungry **now**…. So who can Jim play with?...Molly.

Whirling on his feet he nimbly makes him way over to where he had left Jim (from I.T.)'s phone and sends a quick message text. Frowning slightly as he awaits an answer (bored again-can't stand still, be still) he bounces off to go change into a slightly less expensive outfit. Maybe redo his hair?

Sebastian Moran is a loyal man damn it. He is a loyal man with almost nothing left to be loyal to; everything is gone. Everything but Jim Moriarty. Jim had found Sebastian working as a low grade sniper for hire on the brink of self destruction. Sebastian has never been a leader; he needs something- _someone_ to follow. Without that he drowns in himself. That was what had been happening with him, he had been drowning in his hate. His loss of self.

It had started as just a job. One job for this weird little guy who acted like he was fucking hot shit and who's name was like some secret deadly poison or spell or shit (Okay, so maybe he did royally suck at metaphors) It had been weird but at the time all that had mattered was that it was a job. So no one knew, or at least never spoke, his name. It hadn't bothered him much. The job was a good one; an assassination of this rebel leader out in tiny hovel desert town, in terrain Sebastian was familiar with. It had been made clear to him that he was going to get paid only for shooting that one target- that was all he had to do. Easy. Clean. Fast.

Sebastian's employer (just employer at the time, not Boss) had set up the meeting then had given Sebastian free rein's as to where he would shot from. Which had been kind of nice because most of the idiots Sebastain had been working for hadn't known how to choose a good snipping position. The plan had been a simple one- also a good thing because when the plan was simple there is less that can fuck up.

Step 1) set up snipping position, text employer when ready

Step 2) watch employer meet with rebel leader

Step 3) rebel leader transfers _whatever_ to employer using his cell phone

Step 4) Employer checks transfer on his phone then texts Sebastian

Step 5) shoot rebel leader

Step 6) employer transfers money to Sebastian

That was it. All he was contracted to do and it had all gone smoothly; at least, up to that point. Sebastian shoots and watched his employer _supposedly_ transfer money to Sebastian on his phone. Sebastian, not being an **idiot** then checked his account on his phone- transfer complete. Job officially done.

But Sebastian still watches his employer as the guy makes his incredibly calm (annoyingly **slow**) 'escape'. Apparently that rebel leader had only been about two thirds of the stupid his employer had assumed he was. Rebel leader guy had brought a back up guy too, only his was an idiot. Sebastian watched through his fine precision scope as the man had come at his employer absolutely enraged (a brother?- family run rebel group maybe?) When the cross-hairs a line, Sebastian doesn't hesitate to shot him in the head. So yeah, he's already gotten paid but to Sebastian his jobs have always included a certain type of dignity. It wasn't the first time he had pulled an extra bullet for an employer. He is only paid to shoot one guy- but the job never feels **finished** until his employers make it out. Because in that time; in those moments, it is Sebastian's job to _protect_ them. That's why he's fucking there.

Mr. Hot Shot showed up not long after, in Sebastian's rundown apartment; which address he had never given his (at the time) ex-employer, while the doors and windows had been locked, while Sebastian had been sleeping. He had walked out of his bedroom in sweat pants and a worn shirt, still groggy, to find the guy lounging on his old leather couch. No lie-That had freaked him out. Sebastian is an ex-military sniper who woke up if a paper glides off his desk because of his ac. A shiver had run up his spine staring at the little guy; it was then that he had started to understand that this guy was different then the amateurs Sebastian had worked with before.

The guy rolled his head to the side to look up Sebastian over the back of the couch. His grin had been absolutely devious. "Miss me?" And somehow or another the encounter had ended with Sebastian being in the _permanent_ employment of a little Irish man who, after looking him up and down in careful evaluation, had told him his name was James Moriarty.

Sebastian knows other people don't get it. That if he were to tell this story they would think 'wow- so Sebastian saved Jim' but that's not what happened. They wouldn't fucking get it. Wouldn't see that Sebastian hadn't saved Jim- he had done his job the way he had always done it. He hadn't shot the other guy _for_ Jim; he had shot him because that's just what Sebastian _did_ on a job. No, it is James Moriarty who saved Sebastian Moran. Who gives him purpose and focus. It is because of Jim Moriarty that Sebastian stops with the destructive behaviors. Jim Moriarty who pays off all Sebastian's debts without thought or request. Because of Jim, that Sebastian comes home sometimes and finds new guns or clothes or furniture or even just fricken groceries. Jim never thanks Sebastian for saving his life (not because he's ungrateful _exactly_ but because it isn't the kind of thing that would ever **occur** to Jim) and Sebastian never wants him too because it is Jim who saves Sebastian- no matter how many times Sebastian pulls a trigger.

Molly fell in _**love**_ with the little luncheon café the moment she entered. It was a _tiny_ little place; tightly packed with the bookcases full of tea and chocolates and the worn wooden tables with mismatched chairs. The whole placed smelled of warm brewing teas, handmade bread, and tempting deserts. She had no idea how a man like Jim (a bachelor living in London who worked with computers) would have found such an _adorable_, but admit ably **female** minded, place. She couldn't help but hope that he had picked the place because he thought she would like it. Well, even if he hadn't she was **definitely** coming back.

She had chosen a seat at a little table by a window, purposely facing away from the door so she wouldn't be tempted to **stare** at it until he arrived. (He wasn't going to 'stand her up'- _relax_, He invited you, remember?) The window seat was a purposeful choice too because Molly was in the mood to indulge herself in some people watching.

People watching was a long standing habit of hers. Molly had been doing it for years. Watching the people and reading them. It wasn't that Molly could **deduce** things like Sherlock Holmes could or anything like _that_. No, what Molly does was **far** less exact or scientific. She would look at people and just, get a feel for their emotions. Who was grumpy, frustrated, bored, angry, or happy. Watch the relationships between people not by _actions_ or the positions of their _feet_ or their _clothes_ but by Molly's own feelings when she watched them. Sometimes, after particularly hard days Molly would take it a step further. She would imagine that the people she watched were all actors in a giant play, and she, Molly, was one of them. Everyone was just playing a roll. For an hour or so Molly would pretend that being so awkward and isolated was actually just her being a part of _something_. Everything an illusion.

"See you found this place all right" Molly jumped at the now familiar Irish accent breaking her away from her thoughts. Jim was here! "Oh! You're here!" He grinned at her as he took his spot on the other side of the table. "Indeed! Were you waiting long?" "No! Not at all!"

A young waitress came over and Molly ordered a sandwich while Jim went for the soup of the day. It's not long before Molly finds herself smiling broadly at Jim. How could anyone dislike such a kind, intelligent, and charismatic man? She finds herself less jumpy and awkward the more time she spends with him. They chat about everything from television to Sherlock ("He's an amazing man. Really it's incredible to watch him work but he's a bit…well, blunt." "I can only imagine! I've been on his website and-")

When the food comes they lull off into a quiet comfortable silence. The food is fantastic and Molly knows she has found her new favorite café. "What were you thinking about?" Molly refocuses on Jim and his **very** _**kind**_ smile, the question clear on her face "When I came in. You seemed rather lost in thought." He clarified. Molly blushed bright red and he laughed in an amused but not cruel way "Oh, now I have to know!" Molly tried to calm her rushing pulse, feeling distinctly embarrassed again.

Stilling her slightly shaking hands in her lap she stares out the window determinedly. "I…Do you ever feel like…like your _different_. Like somehow you just- don't **fit** right? Sometimes I like to…to watch how everyone fits together I guess." Molly swallowed deeply and risked a glance over at Jim. She wasn't prepared for what she saw.

His eyes were not confused, 'weirded out', or uncomfortable at all- they were dark, almost glowing with **intensity** and serious like she had struck something deep _deep_ within him. It was a look she could not name; different then his normal eyes or even the look he had had the last time Molly had seen him serious.

He tilted his head, eyes never wavering from their connection, reaching straight down into Molly. It felt something like _kinship_.


End file.
